


Climacteric

by Iordio



Series: Reflexions [6]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-10-25 06:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iordio/pseuds/Iordio
Summary: Getting old and all the peri-menopausal shit that comes with it. Firmly linked to my Confluence universe.And, lesbianishstuff/fanofthearts for chipping in with a bit of inspiration for Bernie's situation.





	1. Chapter 1

October 2017

“Urgh! I’m bloody sick of this. It’s freezing and I might as well hire myself out as a radiator I’m so hot,” moaned Serena as she fanned herself with Bernie’s copy of The Lancet. Hot flushes had become as regular as trips into theatre. Mood swings, well Serena had always had those, just not to this extreme, and now to compound everything, very painful sex with Bernie of all people, even despite copious amounts of lube. The first few months of their relationship were fine, then call it a watershed moment, everything had gone to pot. Serena was equal parts frustrated and mortified, no matter how gentle and patient Bernie was.

“Would you consider going to speak to your GP and ask them to refer you to the Menopause Clinic at St. James?” Bernie asked.

“I might just have to. I can’t go on like this. It’s not fair on you or Jason, and in all honesty pretty much everyone I come into contact with when it’s this bad. But… what if… what if I show the markers for dementia?” stuttered Serena, who had finally said what had been worrying her since her mother died.

“Is that why you won’t go?” 

Serena nodded.

“Oh, sweetheart,” as Bernie wrapped her arms around her partner's waist. “Why don’t you make an appointment? I could come with you if you’d like?”

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

“How come I’ve never seen you with any hot flushes?” asked Serena genuinely interested.

“Erm…well, I think I’m done. Haven’t had a period for two years. I was never that regular, but I think that with the explosion and divorce my body had had enough,” shrugged Bernie.

“I think I have your share. And I hate you!” moaned Serena.

“No you don’t,” said Bernie as she rested her head against Serena’s. “If it’s any consolation, having a hot flush when you're on tour in the 45°c heat of an Afghan summer wasn’t much fun either.”

“Ha! So you have suffered! You’re not so superhuman, then?”

“Definitely not. Unless you want me to start wearing my knickers over my jeans?”

“I’d rather you weren’t wearing any…” said Serena as she spun around to face Bernie.

“Don’t tease,” moaned Bernie as she kissed Serena’s neck.

“Not teasing if I follow through…” moaned Serena as Bernie palmed her breast. Her hands smoothing over the planes of Bernie’s hips and resting in the back pockets of her jeans.

“Promise you’ll make an appointment?” mumbled Bernie.

“Yes, I’ll do it online once I’ve finished.”

“Finished what…?”

“Darling, I know you aren’t that dense…” Serena’s hands squeezing her girlfriend's arse as a reminder.

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, completely drifted off. Fancy drifting upstairs instead? We can always use lube. Although, it don’t think I want to try the tingly one, especially if we’ve got work in the morning.”

Serena blushed at the memory of both of them needing lube and both of them going down on each other and the sensations they had felt for two days afterward. “Oh, god. That was horrific. I’m sure Ric thought I had an urinary infection or worse an STI! I was disappearing to the loo every thirty minutes.”

“It was fun!” grinned a very smug Bernie.

“Felt like John Wayne!”

“Pretty good birthday present, if I do say so myself.”

“I’ve created a monster,” smiled Serena.

“Hardly, just getting used to being more comfortable in my own skin. 

\--

'Serena Campbell – Room Five' said the tannoy.

“Ready?”

“Not really, are you ok to wait here, and then I can ask you to come in,” said Serena as she stood to make her way to the consultating room.

\--

“Hi, I’m Dr. Lomax. Please take a seat. What seems be the problem today?”

He's twelve years old thought Serena, “Mood swings, hot flushes, constantly tired, painful sex, and my age...Plus I'm terrified that I may may have markers for Dementia, my Mum had that,” she shared, eyebrows rising to emphasise the point.

“Ah, right. As you can see, I’m no expert, but let's investigate all the symptoms first before geting too far ahead. Hmm?" Dr Lomax replied. How long since your last period?”

“…Six months ago, painful and really light. No spotting since then,” continued Serena. “Mood swings have been slightly murderous to wallowing in a pool of tears. I threw a carrot at my partner!” At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humour.

“Anything else?” queried Dr Lomax.

“Unless my partner has spotted anything, she’s in the waiting room if you want to ask her?” 

“I think we’ve got enough to go on. I’m going to suggest we do the usual bloodwork test for hormone levels, vitamin B12, and vitamin D. And in the meantime, avoid the usual triggers of caffeine and alcohol."

“Might be a bit of a struggle to avoid caffeine, occupational hazard,” Serena laughed. “Vascular surgeon at Holby City…”

“Decaffeinated…” Dr Lomax suggested with a grin.

“I can a feel a mood swing coming on,” smiled Serena.

“Point taken. Right, book yourself in for your bloods and your annual check-up at reception, and looking at your records, you’re due a smear test as well.”

“You do know how to show a girl a good time, Dr Lomax,” Serena shaking her head.

“All part of the service. Lovely to meet you, Serena. I’ll see you once we get the results are back and go through any potential options.”

\--

“How did it go?” asked Bernie as they were walking back to Serena's.

“As expected, bloodwork. Need to book in for my annual check and smear test. Can you imagine shoving a speculum up there with vaginal dryness! Will probably get my mammogram reminder next week for good measure,” laughed Serena. 

“God, I hate those. At least you have some. Can you imagine trying to fit these in between the plates,” said Bernie gesturing at her chest.

“I’m rather envious of yours at times, at least you don’t have to take out a loan to buy new bras with more wire than a suspension bridge,” said Serena as she hooked her arm through Bernie’s.

“Really? I am rather fond of yours, they are a perfect fit for my hands.”

“You do know that you’ve said that out loud! And for the record I’m rather fond of your legs and your arse, especially when you are swaggering around AAU in your scrubs,” Serena said fondly as she pulled Bernie closer.

“So are you saying that you still fancy the pants off me?” smirked Bernie.

“Pants on you as well. God, I love you,” giggled Serena. One thing she had discovered and had come to love about Bernie was that she was such a flirt when they were on their own. The innuendo, the deadpan delivery, the way her eyes narrowed and sparkled with such mischief. “So now I’ve got that out of the way, what do you fancy doing for the rest of our day off?”

“Brunch?” suggested Bernie.

“Sounds good. Lead on Major.”


	2. Pastels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctors make the worst patients. Growing old and the peri-menopausal crap. Completely mundane fluff. Firmly linked to my Confluence universe.

January 2018

“Ric, are you able to cover a shift next week? I need to swap,” asked Bernie.

“What day?” replied Ric.

“Wednesday afternoon. I’ve got somewhere I need to be. Well, want to be,” continued Bernie.

“Only if you can cover my Saturday,” Ric grinned sensing and opportunity to have a dig.

“Early or late?” asked Bernie.

“Early,” replied Ric.

“Done.”

“Why the eagerness? You usually avoid Saturdays at all costs,” asked Ric, his interest already piqued.

“Something with Serena,” Bernie replied.

“Oh come on! You can do better than that. Heading to the registry office, picking out rings…” smiled Ric who was always ready to ramp up the banter between them.

“You wish!” batted back Bernie. Already got the ring, she thought to herself.

\--

Wednesday afternoon came around quicker than expected, more so for Serena who was just wanting to find something to help her absolutely rubbish hormone levels, hot flushes, and mood swings. Her GP had referred her to the clinic at St James as due to her results and bouts of depression, they were better suited to getting it right first time. Serena joked at least she doesn’t have to use Dr. Google to research as she can just log in to her Jstor account instead. Bernie had suggested speaking with Fleur to which Serena replied that the sofa might be Bernie’s bed for the night. 

\--

“It’s ok love, Gynae is two floors away from Ortho, I checked,” said Serena. Conscious of still how recent her partner’s divorce was, she reached for her hand as they made their way to the lifts.

“Thank you,” Bernie whispered, who squeezed Serena’s hand at her thoughtfulness.

They found themselves sitting on hard chairs in the waiting area. Always ones to people watch, they scanned the room and the emotions being projected by its occupants; the legs that were jiggling, the fingers tapping on knees, the fidgeting in the seats, the glances at the clock, the huffs and sighs when it was someone else’s name called and not theirs.

“Serena Campbell,” called a nurse in lilac scrubs. 

“Why do they have to use pastel colours? I like Fleur’s idea of wearing black, reflects the mood better,” muttered Serena, rising to walk over to the nurse, Bernie following them both into the consulting room. “Is it ok if my partner comes in with me?”

“Yes, of course. Please take a seat and I can take some basic details before Mrs. Younger sees you,” requested the nurse. “Can you tell me when you had your last period, any spotting, other symptoms, when things are worse, better etc…?”

“Ok, Last period was Christmas Eve, and lasted four days which is normal. Pretty heavy and painful which is unusual, and before that April. A little bit of spotting since then, but only for a day. Hot flushes, daily. Although if I’m in theatre it helps as it’s much cooler. I’m a vascular surgeon at Holby,” Serena explained as the nurse nodded. “I’ve reduced my coffee intake and changed to decaff, which has been rather challenging to say the least. Constantly knackered and lethargic due to lack of a decent night’s sleep. My mood swings are awful, they can change so quickly. And despite being blissfully happy, there are moments when I feel I’m stuck in the darkest and lowest depression that’s ever existed. Thankfully, it only last a few hours. Sex can be painful, but we’ve managed to find a work-around. Have I missed anything?” as Serena looked at Bernie.

“You seem to have more really low moods when you are the early shifts,” shrugged Bernie.

“Do I?” queried Serena as Bernie nodded. “I hadn’t realised. I think that’s it,” said Serena as she looked at the nurse who was scribbling away in her notes. 

“Ok, I think we’ve got everything. Your GP has sent over their notes, and your most recent blood test results from Endocrinology. If you can pop back into the waiting area and my colleague will call you in a bit,” said the nurse.

\--

“I’m so glad we don’t run clinics! We assess, treat, operate, and move them on in most cases. I couldn’t cope with this,” murmured Bernie. 

“I know, even for me it’s rather pedestrian after so many years in AAU. Still, they do get to go off and do their private work…”

“There’s not much call for private trauma specialists outside the military and NHS, but at least we can claim that techniques developed in the field do filter down to day to day medicine over time,” said Bernie.

“Did you always want to be in the Army?” asked Serena, who had realised that despite them being together for over a year they hadn’t really talked much about their younger selves.

“I was always fascinated by how things worked, I found my Dad’s old Meccano set in the garage when I was seven, and I would always build things and take them apart. And then when I went to boarding school at nine, we had Dr. Wise, who looked like a mad professor but made chemistry and biology completely come alive for me. I was really caught between Army and medicine until I found out I could do both. So that’s what I did. Joined OTC at university, and signed up as soon as I could. Marcus wasn’t that thrilled,” explained Bernie. “What about you?”

“Similar to you, apart from the Army. When you have a teacher who inspires you, they stay with you for the rest of your life, don’t they… It was Mrs Cadman, her husband was the local MP so you’d always see him at school concerts, used to play his trumpet with the school orchestra. Can’t see any of the current crop of MPs doing that. I loved science and PPE, but medicine won out. Then once I was qualified as a consultant, I asked the trust if I could take a sabbatical to complete my MBA, so we all moved to the States for 18 months. Came back and divorced Edward a year later, Mum was horrified,” laughed Serena.

“And now we’re here…” mused Bernie.

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way. Well, maybe minus this…” as Serena waved her hand to indicate their current surroundings.  


“I know,” whispered Bernie, who quickly looked around, saw no-one was looking in their direction and brought Serena’s hand to her lips.

“Serena Campbell,” shouted another nurse clad in lilac scrubs.  


“Come on, let’s get this over and done with,” said Serena with more certainty than she felt.

\--

“Bloody hell, I never knew there were so many combinations of hormone levels,” said Bernie as they made their way back to her car, hand in hand.

“I know. Trust me to have one of the rarer combinations. I know it’s not an excuse, but I’m glad there’s a reason behind the way I feel. When I’m feeling shite, and everything is so bleak, I do wonder why you stay with me…” said Serena who was close to tears.

“I love you. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. I know that’s it’s not always going to be like this, but sometimes I do feel rather guilty as I hardly had any symptoms. Even if we weren’t together, I’d still offer to be here with you,” said Bernie who’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Thank you. Wonderful you,” breathed Serena as the tears freely rolled down her cheeks. They’d stopped at the car and held each other in silence. “I supposed I'd better drop this off at the pharmacy,” waving her script. “Then home?”

“Yours or mine?” asked Bernie.

“Yours, Jason is at Greta’s. Don’t want to be there, too much space,” explained Serena, almost petulantly.

“Ok,” as Bernie opened and closed the passenger door for her partner. She would never have used that term to describe Marcus, she was fiercely independent and far too stubborn to ask him for support. But with Serena, it was instinct, it was what she had spent a large part of her life secretly craving and now she didn’t want to let go, ever. This is my life now, she thought as she pulled onto the main road and headed back to her flat.

\--

“What are you doing?” asked Serena from her spot on the sofa.

“Erm, getting a throw from the wardrobe,” huffed Bernie, as she was frantically trying to hide an engagement ring she’d bought at New Year in an old shoebox full of photographs. “Gimme a minute!”

“C'mere,' said Serena as Bernie wandered back into her lounge with a wool blanket clutched to her chest. Serena held her arm up for Bernie to cuddle into her side as she spread the blanket over them both. 

“Feels like we’re skiving off work,” Bernie moaned as she relaxed into Serena.

“I know. I only wish it were for something more glamorous than a trip to the menopause clinic, and a bunch of leaflets about HRT patches, possible side effects, and timescales,” replied Serena.

“Are you ok, though?”

“I hope so. I feel so emotionally drained by today. We do make the worst patients, don’t we?” said Serena into the silence of the room.

“Mmm,” agreed Bernie who was very quickly dozing off.

Safe in the knowledge that Bernie was sound asleep, Serena opened her prescription that was sitting on the arm of the sofa and read through the instructions, despite practicing the placement of her patches with the nurses at the clinic, it was all together a different matter when you are on your own, she thought. 

“Bernie, Darling,” as Serena gently shook her shoulder.

“Hmmnff,” groaned Bernie. “Sleepy.” 

Serena snorted at the childlike response. Reaching for a cushion to replace her thigh, Serena slowly extricated herself and dashed to the loo. Laughing to herself at her partner’s ability to fall asleep anywhere. She didn’t suppose that any of her previous male partners would have come with her today. They would have baulked at the very thought and in Edward's case he would have called her a mad bat, but then maybe one of her mood swings could treacherously be close to murderous, she laughed at the thought. Bloody hormones.


	3. Compass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once in a while most relationships will have an honest and emotional conversation. This is theirs.
> 
> Firmly linked to my Confluence universe. 
> 
> Hat tip - fanofthearts for Bernie’s trip

May 2018

“S'rena… Ohh. Whoops, sorry,” spluttered Bernie, not expecting Serena to have her scrub bottoms halfway down her arse inspecting her HRT patch in the mirror. “Need a hand...?” said Bernie with a slight leer in her voice.” 

“Uh-huh, can you help me get this one off, it’s well and truly stuck? I tried last night and gave up,” Serena pleaded. “My arse isn’t that hairy.”

“Is it wrong that I’m jealous of an HRT patch?” Bernie whispered in her ear as she wrapped her arms around her partner’s waist from behind to pull her close.

“Berenice, now is not the time,” Serena purred.

“But Fraulein, it very much is the time,” Bernie continued as her hands pushed the rest of Serena’s scrubs down passed her hips.

“Bernie, no!” Serena squeaked. “What’s got into you?”

“You, with a bit of luck…” moaned Bernie as she kissed Serena’s neck and down her shoulders, watching the flush spread upwards from her breasts. 

“We can’t,” Serena said as she turned to face Bernie. “Oh, fuck it!” she moaned as their lips finally met.

“I’m planning on it,” groaned Bernie.

\--

“Care to explain what just happened?” asked Serena, her eyelids heavy from their exertions.

“I think it’s fairly obvious, Darling,” gloated Bernie.

“You know what I mean,” replied Serena, shaking her head.

“Would you believe me if I said that I missed you, and not seeing you for three days has been bloody hellish…?”

“Are you saying that my big macho army medic is turning soft and needy in her old age?”

“Not old,” pouted Bernie moments before her face split into a huge grin. 

“…But you aren’t disputing that you are a soft sap. Good to know,” laughed Serena.

“Are you ok, though? I mean it was rather quick,” said Bernie who was now hiding her shyness under her fringe.

“Very much so. You?” asked Serena who felt Bernie nod her head against hers. 

“S’pose we should get back on the ward. Do you think anyone will notice?”

“I hope not, but I’ll open the windows just in case. I’ll give you a head start though,” winked Serena.

“You’ll come over tonight?” Bernie asked.

“Try stopping me! Although, after being on call I may want to fall asleep. I’ll let Jason know, but he’s spending as much time at Greta’s as her Mum will allow,” said Serena.

“Ha! Shall I expect you around eight?” asked Bernie.

“Absolutely. I can’t remember if I left a pair of my hot flush pyjamas there or not, I might swing home first and pick up a pair,” Serena said, thinking out loud.

“I don’t think you’ll need them,” grinned Bernie.

“Will you just behave!” replied Serena as she pushed Bernie towards the staff locker room door. “Go!” 

Serena spent the next few minutes as she changed out of her scrubs and into her usual clothes reflecting on the fact that they had just fucked each other in the locker room. There was no other way to describe it. Something she never expected herself to do but had not shied away from it either. And yes, she acknowledged to herself, that it makes her a complete hypocrite given the numerous lectures she’s given to junior colleagues over the years about professional standards. Yet she felt no shame, relief if anything.

She loved Bernie, and loved the effect her partner had on her, but the sense of urgency between them had been consciously missing over the last year due the effects of her bloody menopause. Maybe the HRT patches are starting to work, she thought; she hadn’t needed to think twice about it. It felt like the early, heady days of their relationship, but then any new relationship has an infatuation stage, she reasoned. 

They weren’t teenagers by any stretch of the imagination, today somehow felt different. As if a persistent fog had lifted after months of suffocation and enforced darkness. Small chinks of light had started to appear over the last couple of days, a recalibration of hormones; an increased self-awareness of her mood swings and the triggers. 

The sound of her pager bleeping brought her back to the present, ‘consult – ED’ the small screen said. “Oh well,” Serena said, opening the door and walking back to AAU before heading to ED and their special brand of customer service.

\--

“Can I borrow your hairdryer after dinner?” asked Serena.

“To peel off the patch… I could help?” 

“Actually help or help?” insinuated Serena.

“No, actually help!” laughed Bernie.

“Not exactly the most romantic thing we’ve ever done…”

“Pretty memorable, though” cut in Bernie.

“For all the wrong bloody reasons!” laughed Serena.

“But seriously, you are feeling better, aren’t you?” Bernie asked softly, her arm stretching along the back of the sofa to find Serena’s hand.

“I think so, they did say around three months. I must admit that I didn’t like the person I thought I was turning into. In those overwhelmingly dark moments… Oh, Bernie it was awful, I was fighting with myself not to go there but I felt like I was falling into some abyss,” explained Serena. Bernie sat in silence, listening to her partner describe her depression.

“Then I’d get a text from you and that would stop me in my tracks. Can you remember when you were asked to The States to demonstrate your technique for successful atriocaval shunts in trauma cases? It wasn’t that I didn’t want you to go, I did. I was so proud of you. It was the fact that you were sending me beautiful pictures from the hot air balloon festival and I was stuck in dreary Holby, feeling like the world had stopped spinning and heading towards oblivion. That’s when I comprehended that I couldn’t go on like this. And when you came back and suggested going to the GP, it was the push I needed. But I definitely don’t feel like that now. Please believe me. It’s not about loving each other, it’s about trust, and I want you to trust me that when I say I’m feeling better, I am. And don’t go wrapping me up in cotton wool either!” Serena said with a watery smile. 

“It also doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t tell me how my fucking menopause impacts on you, I know you well enough to know that you are more of an action woman, but usually when you speak, you are thoughtful, considerate, and selfless. I don’t want you to be, if it pisses you off, tell me and I’ll make an appointment at the clinic, OK?” said Serena.

“Ok,” was all Bernie could say as her mind was racing and her body reeling. 

“C’mere,” as Serena held her arm open for Bernie to lean in. “I know you didn’t expect this tonight. Neither did I, and I know you will want to process it.”

“And I will. It doesn’t change this or us, does it?”

“I hope not, don’t want it to either,” said Serena, pulling Bernie closer for good measure. The emotion of the last half an hour hanging heavy in the air. 

“Was your depression always like this?” asked Bernie.

“No, not at first. But I’m better at recognising the signs and triggers. I was thirty when I had my first panic attack. I remember years later spending a Sunday night in an ED, my heart rate was 280 and the F2 asked me about my last holiday, which randomly was where he grew up in Italy, and within the space of thirty seconds my heart rate had dropped to forty,” Serena sighed and took a fortifying breath before continuing.

“And that’s when the depression really took hold. It terrified me as Elinor was only five or six at the time. The divorce was done and dusted. However, looking back feeling content and definitely being settled has helped. What about you?” asked Serena, who wondered if Bernie would be able to continue with what was becoming a soul-bearing evening or brush it off in her usual manner. Maybe they needed it…

“It was more about figuring out why I always felt like something was missing. I mean, I had worked out I liked women, and it took me the best part of twenty odd years to put it in to action so to speak… I’ve always been remote, there was the odd person who came close, but I’ve never been that open about my emotions, which doesn’t mean I don’t have any. Marcus used to think that, so did the kids to a lesser degree,” said Bernie quietly, reaching for a cushion to put under her knees.

“Having my world blown up in such a spectacular fashion forced me to reevaluate; being honest, being comfortable in my own skin when I wasn’t Major Wolfe, coping with the flashbacks by not working myself into the ground and collapsing with exhaustion as an avoidance technique,” Bernie paused.

“Then dealing with the divorce, the MoD for my injury in service claim, medical discharge, survivors guilt. I wasn’t really a nice person to be around. One of my old COs put me in contact with Paula Walton at the RCDM at the QE in Birmingham who helped me unscrambled my thoughts into some semblance of order that I could finally make sense of. Although, I flatly refused at first. And then I met you in the car park at work, and I knew I needed to change,” said Bernie, laughing slightly. 

“You know… I’ve often thought that Charlotte would have made a wonderful clinical psychologist if she’d gone into the family business,” finished Bernie. The randomness of her proclamation causing Serena to snort.

“Sorry, spoiled the moment,” apologised Serena.

“Don’t be, but we should probably head to bed.”

“Uh-huh. But this patch is coming off first.”

“God, I love you Campbell,” laughed Bernie.


	4. Immaculate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of my Reflexions universe.
> 
> Bernie's coping strategies are improving.
> 
> I wanted to improve my 'Bernie's voice' and thought process, Serena's voice comes far too easily for me. This is a slightly different style for me as well as being a personal challenge.
> 
> As usual, fanofthearts/lesbianishstuff for being able to bounce ideas around with.

It’s been such a long time since I actually sat in front of a keyboard of my own volition. Yeah, sure I may have to have a metaphorical gun pointed at my head to make sure I complete my monthly performance stats. But to physically sit down and transfer my thoughts, fears (for that’s what they are) and the inner workings of my brain to the screen in front of me is not as overwhelming as first thought. My typing speed has vastly improved. Serena said that she will no longer offer to write my reports. I’m guessing I didn’t think that part through.

I’m here, sitting in our home office, I can hear the clicking of knitting needles from the sofa, Serena has found her rhythm – it’s soothing, it’s reassuring to know she is still there, not out of sight, but close enough. 

I’ve been going through a rough patch, and rather than compartmentalise and close myself off from those around me, I contacted Paula Walton at RCDM for some advice. I know this isn’t relationship related - all of them (work, Serena, kids, wider family). I do know that it’s PTSD related. How can it not be? I’m content, settled, all the kids are fine, so why has it reared it’s ugly head?

One random thought two weeks ago in theatre has sent me into a tailspin. Serena picked up on it as soon as it happened, she told me to scrub out. I did. No argument. She found me on the roof twenty minutes later still in her scrubs. She didn’t say anything, just sat next to me in silence, as I finally made the first move. My little finger closing the distance between us. What struck me was just how cold she felt. The thin material not putting up any defence against sitting on cold concrete. Our deck chairs had mysteriously disappeared. 

The patient had a stab wound. Nothing out of the ordinary, Ok well, a bit. Stabbings are not exactly a daily occurrence in Holby. London, Birmingham, Manchester, yes. But, Holby. The lad – he was 19. He qualifies as a mere lad in my eyes. Stab wound to the leg, nicked the femoral artery, the jagged edge of the knife had caused massive damage to tissue and muscle when it was ripped out, we even found the tip of the knife embedded in his femur.  
It wasn’t that. It was the branding he had endured on his thigh, not the obvious places such as his arms, but his thigh. This meant he was probably trafficked into slavery and sex work, which could mean that the knife wound could be an attempt to get out. 

And that was it, I was back in Lashkar Gah (Lash Vegas). I froze for a second, everything went black, I was swimming. I could feel my heart lurch sideways. I was brought back by Serena calling my name, and encouraging me to scrub out. I didn’t need a second opportunity. I was out of there within twenty seconds, on the roof within two minutes, gulping in air and dry heaving in equal measure. My vision was blurry, I was so lightheaded, and I’d lost the hearing in my right ear. I knew I was jelly-legged from running up the stairs, I didn’t know whether to stand still or sit down. I barely made it over to the top of the lift shaft, before sliding down the wall and coming to rest on the concrete below.

Breathe. I told myself to breathe. I counted in, I counted out, one, two, three, four, repeated, until I could lift my head up and rest it against the wall behind me. My eyes stayed closed, I was terrified to open them. I knew I was on the roof of the Wyvern Wing, but I could have been back in theatre. My hearing came back and I could hear the sound of ambulance sirens whining as they came up the roundabouts that led into the ED bay. I could feel Serena sit down next to me, the air shifting slightly. I knew she wouldn’t say anything, she wanted me to let her know that I was alright. She’s seen me have two flashbacks since we’ve been together. The first one, Serena had panicked, and wasn’t sure whether to manage it as if I was a patient and cause me more harm or as my partner. The second one was just after I’d moved into Serena’s, I was half asleep on the sofa and there was an almighty crash from the kitchen. It was that liminal moment of waking up with a start and not being sure of your surroundings. 

We’d discussed what I’d wanted Serena to do if it ever happened again. She was perfect. We’d agreed that she would help me count to regulate my breathing and that I would tell her what I could see. I didn’t want her to hold me until I was ready. 

And now this one, which is why after speaking with Paula Walton, I’ve spent pretty much every moment typing, deleting, re-typing what led up to the latest flashback. I dare say that if I wasn’t who I was, then I suspect I would not have been able to get an appointment as quickly as I have. 

Alex, and I can mention her without self-flagellating myself now. We. We were a product of working together, a coping strategy, part self-destruction, part lust, part fantasy, part ignoring the issues at home, part freedom, part forgetting that we were in an active warzone for twenty minutes every few days. 

Did I ever tell you how immaculate Serena’s timing is? Well, it is. Something that I never had with Marcus, we were both pig-headed and stubborn. I think he forgot how bloody tough I am. I can deal with everyone else’s emotions, not my own, I would pick up on people’s weaknesses, yet not on my own. But somehow, meeting Serena in the car park four years ago and everything since we’ve done since then was something I knew I deeply coveted but had no clue if I could manage to be like when reality bites. I can and I very much am. I’m not naïve to know that part of why we work is that both of us struggle on the emotional communication front, and we stutter, huff, stumble over our words, we’ve said the wrong things and done the wrong things at times, but we find a way in the end. 

This was supposed to be me developing my PTSD coping strategies, but as usual it’s turned into a sappy love letter to my immaculate Serena. At least I have something constructive to tell Paula Walton when I see her on Friday afternoon.


	5. Concept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie is starting to work through her baggage.

“S’rena, have you got five minutes before you scrub in?” Bernie asked.

“Yes. Office?” Serena was mindful of just how much of Bernie’s recent wobble was playing on her mind. “This isn’t clinical is it? Would you like me to close the blinds?”

“Please,” answered Bernie, their office door closing behind them with a soft click, unsure of whether to pace or collapse on the couch. 

“C’mere,” whispered Serena, holding out her arms for Bernie to step into, feeling her sag against her body. “Want to tell me or still trying to work out what to say?”

“Both,” mumbled Bernie. 

“Ok, take your time love.”

“You’re having a flush, I can feel it,” said Bernie into Serena’s shoulder. “Feels nice.”

“Want to me to let go?”

“No, I need warming up. Been cold all morning. Doesn’t help that it’s -7c outside,” continued Bernie. “Feel a bit out of sorts since talking to Paula. She gave me plenty to think about. Trying to put things into perspective. This helps,” finished Bernie, shivering against the warmth.

“Ok, sure you aren’t coming down something?”

“Bloody hope not! Think it might be my body telling me I need a break.”

“And how often have you ever listened your body. Hmm?” prompted Serena.

“Never,” Bernie sheepishly replied.

“So, book some leave. I can cover here. Put the electric blanket on and wallow for a few days. No questions asked, Major,” firmly said Serena.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why? I’ll clear it with Hanssen. I’d rather have a healthy you than someone who is running on fumes, on the cusp of burnout, and increased PTSD flashbacks. And it will give you some space to work through whatever you discussed with Paula.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bernie, you’ve just said you’re out of sorts, your body needs a break to let you mind recover. Different tact, what would you tell a patient?”

“I hate you. You know you’re right,” huffed out Bernie.  


“More often than not! I’m saying this as a colleague not as your partner as that would be an entirely different conversation,” replied Serena holding Bernie tighter.

“I don't really want one of those conversations, well not today.”

“So finish your charts and go home. I'll let Jason know. Don’t let him boss you into doing something. Rest. Promise?” 

“What about scrubbing in?”

“I'm sure Dr Digby will be a suitable understudy. Right, charts, home, and bed,” said Serena resting their foreheads together.  


“Yes, yes, Ok! I do love you even though you are making me do charts,” mumbled Bernie.

“I know you do, love. Now, I need to crack on. I’ll see you tonight when I get in. And for the record Major Wolfe, I am very much in love with you,” said Serena, stealing a quick kiss before darting out the door.

Alone with her thoughts and pile of charts, she did what any doctor worth their salt would do; go off in search of coffee and food. Charts done by one and still no sign of Serena or Doctor Digby. She sent one last email explaining to Henrik why she will be requesting emergency annual leave and she would submit it forewith via Daybook. 

Picking up the phone as it rang, “AAU, Bernie Wolfe speaking.”  


“Ah, Ms Wolfe. I was hoping to catch you. Ms Campbell said something you needing to take emergency leave. I trust everything is OK?” asked Henrik in his usual manner.

“Not really,” huffed Bernie. “Following orders from Paula Walton and the Boss,”

“Physician heal thy self in this instance?”

“Not quite,” laughed Bernie. “Although, I may not be as invincible as I once thought. I’m better at heeding advice.”

“The folly of youth, perhaps Ms Wolfe,” stated Henrik.

“More like the wrath of two very senior and well respected consultants, one of whom I live with,” honked Bernie.

“Yes, there is that. Please do let me know if you require anything, and I do mean anything. I don’t think that there is anything I wouldn’t do for Ms Campbell, and ergo you,” mused Henrik.

“Thank you, Henrik. It is very much appreciated. And if Serena is does get somewhat tetchy, call me. Please?” 

“I will. Ms Wolfe, I shan’t keep you from your leave any longer.”


End file.
